Bedding the Bachelors Box Set (Books 1-3) (21 page)

The two other girls, introduced to her as Amanda and Tina, were close to six feet, their bodies thin yet curvy, especially in the chest area. Amanda had long, multi-hued blonde hair, and Tina had a wavy red bob that looked perpetually disheveled. They were model gorgeous, and it would have been easy to hate them both but for the fact they were extremely nice and down-to-earth. Amanda had a degree in nursing, and Tina wore crystals and had offered to give Melina a tarot reading. She liked them, even if they did make her feel like the dumpy nerd who didn't quite belong.

With a flourish, Rhys finished one trick, then switched places with Max, who'd been sitting in a chair at the side of the stage. She hadn't spent a lot of time with Max, other than to scold him, then kiss him, for what he'd done at the hotel. She hadn't brought up Trisha or the incident from twelve years ago, and neither had Rhys. Still, she could tell Max was feeling awkward about things. He was more quiet than usual and, except for rehearsals, he kept mostly to himself. She'd asked Rhys about it, but he'd just shrugged, saying Max could be moody but that he'd eventually snap out of it.

The music cued and another trick began, everyone flowing around the stage like they were born to be there. At one point, Rhys called out for them to stop, and he and Max discussed something while the girls left the stage. Melina felt so proud as she watched them. They were good at what they did, and it was obvious that while Max and Rhys were a team, Rhys made things happen. He kept things running. He was the heart of the Dalton Twins’ Magic Act. Without him, it couldn't possibly survive. More important, he clearly loved what he did. Being around his family and performing with them gave him a spark and vitality that had been missing before, even when he'd been relaxed and having fun in Lake Shasta.

Knowing she didn't have much time before she'd be called to the stage herself, Melina got to her feet and quietly made her way toward the exit. She was almost there when she saw Amanda and Tina return.

They were topless, their big breasts round and thrust out for everyone to see. Rhys and Max glanced up, then kept talking, obviously unfazed by their nudity.

Melina, on the other hand, felt the ground drop out from under her. Bracing herself with a shaky hand, she slowly lowered herself into another seat. She watched as Max performed one illusion after another, the whole time keeping at least one of the girls close. He touched them often, almost absently, a hand on a hip here, or a caress against the side of a breast there. Melina knew it was all for show—that it didn't mean anything to any of them—but she couldn't help thinking of the way Rhys had touched her when they'd practiced, too. And even though it wasn't
him
touching the girls now, she knew he and Max traded off performing every trick, so he'd touched them at some point and would continue to do so.

Someone touched her shoulder, and she jerked her head around. Rhys stood beside her, his mouth grim. “Hey,” he said.

She turned back to the stage. “Hi,” she whispered.

He lowered himself to the seat beside her and sighed. “I warned you there were a couple of acts that contained nudity, Melina.”

Nodding, she licked her lips. “Yeah. You did. You didn't tell me how often you got to cop a feel, though.” As soon as the bitter words left her mouth, she wanted to call them back. But she couldn't. And she couldn't pretend it wasn't how she felt. Not so much because the touching was sexual or even offensive, but because it seemed to highlight just how different their lives really were.

He lightly grasped her arms and turned her to face him. “It's just an act. The equivalent of an on-screen kiss. It doesn't mean anything.”

“I know that.” But it means something to me, she thought.
And this is what he'd be doing, night after night, while I wait for him. While I give up my life for him.
She was an insecure person during the best of times. How low would she stoop if she had to imagine Rhys's hands on another woman's body every night?

She stood. “I was just going to get something to eat before we rehearse. What time should I be back?”

“Melina, can we talk about this?”

“There's nothing to talk about,” she said with a thin smile. “This is your life, and there's nothing wrong with it. Now what time do you want me back?”

“We'll rehearse in an hour. Does that work?”

“An hour's good.”

She tried to move past him, but there wasn't enough room unless she wanted to squeeze by and brush against him. Knowing it was silly, she turned and walked down the other side of the aisle, slipping outside through another door.

She didn't look back, but she never got something to eat, either. Instead, feeling more like an outsider than ever, she wandered the streets outside the theater until she came to a nest of shops. One in particular caught her eye, and she stopped to stare at the display window.

The mannequin decked out in leather should have looked ridiculous, but to Melina it represented the daring, almost surreal nature of Rhys's celebrity lifestyle. Foreign. Exotic. Out of reach.

Yet, she reminded herself that she'd been enjoying her time here. That she'd begun to acclimate to his world. So what if she'd suffered a slight bump in the road? Why couldn't she don the leather outfit in the window just as she had Jillian's stage costume? Although it probably wouldn't feel right at first, she'd eventually grow accustomed to it. Wouldn't she?

At the very least, Rhys would know she was willing to try. Maybe, regardless of her reaction to his topless assistants, things could work out for them.

Maybe she just needed to prove it to herself, and this hollow feeling of despair would vanish forever.

But if she was going to take risks, she wasn't going to be the only one. Rhys had allowed himself to be vulnerable when he'd let her tie him up, but things had gotten significantly more complicated since then. If she was going to strip herself bare for him, then he was going to do the same. Only then would she believe the depth of his feelings for her.

With newfound resolve, Melina walked into the store.

***

That night, after rehearsal was finally over, Rhys practically speed-walked back to his hotel. He was exhausted. Hungry. Grumpy. None of that compared to the desperate need he had to see Melina and confirm that things were okay between them.

When he'd noticed her at the back of the theater, her eyes on Max and the topless assistants, he'd felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. She'd looked so sad. Defeated. Nothing like the woman who'd been gamely trying to adjust to the foreign world she'd been shoved into.

He'd been a mess after that. Distracted. Edgy. But when she'd shown up for practice, Melina had seemed to be back to her regular self. She'd laughed when he'd teased her, and she'd given him a nice, long kiss before she'd left the theater, saying she'd have a surprise for him back at the room.

Now, two hours later, all he wanted was to crawl into Melina's arms. He wasn't even nervous about tomorrow's show. Whatever the outcome, he just wanted to know what his future with Melina had in store.

He was going to do what he should have done a long time ago. He was going to give Melina a choice—home and hearth, or him. And it didn't matter whether it was fair or not, but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she chose him.

When he opened the door to their suite, he did so quietly, in case Melina was sleeping. Sure enough, the bedroom was dark, quiet except for the steady buzz of the air conditioner. He shut the door, then flicked on the bathroom light so he could undress. When he saw Melina, he froze.

“Melina?”

Music with a slow, hip-thrusting beat began to play. From her seat in the corner, Melina stood and walked toward him, her hips swaying exaggeratedly, her steps keeping time with the music. He nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw the crisscrossed laces running between her plumped-up breasts. Was she wearing a corset?

She was. It wasn't just any corset, either. It was made of soft black leather that molded itself to her curves. She wore a matching dog collar and wrist bands; no spikes, thank God, just silver eyelets that matched the ones on her chest. Makeup, more makeup than he'd ever seen her wear, layered her face, making her look like a stranger. A beautiful, tempting, lustful stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

She looked at him challengingly, crooked her finger, and urged him closer.

He didn't move. “Where'd you get that?” he asked hoarsely.

“There are plenty of shops around.” Spreading her legs wide, she planted her fists on her hips, a cocky, Superwoman stance that called attention to the four-inch spike heels she was wearing. “What do you think?”

What did he think? Not much, since all his blood had rushed straight to his dick. “You look...” He paused, knowing “like a stranger” wasn't the right thing to say. “Hot. You look hot. But you'll be even more hot when you're naked.”

She pouted and shook her head. “Nice of you to say, but I'm not the one who's going to be stripping down. You are.”

“Oh, am I?” He couldn't help but think of the night he'd walked into his Sacramento hotel room and found her waiting for him. Other than the unexpectedness of it, that had felt right. Something here was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

“Yep.” Pulling out a chair, she slowly turned it until she could straddle it, her legs spread wide, the bottomless crotch of her outfit revealing that tiny strip of hair that drove him mad. He hissed in a breath and started jerking at buttons.

Whatever the hell was going on here, they'd deal with it. Afterward. Ripping off his shirt, he stalked closer.

“Stop,” she commanded.

He did, even as he clenched his fists and sucked in air like a locomotive.

“Perform for me. Strip for me.” Her voice sounded harsh. Demanding. A little bitchy. Even as his erection lengthened, a part of him resisted.

“It's been a long night, baby. I don't think I'm up—”

“Oh, you're up, all right. And you're going to stay up. For as long as I want you to be. Now strip.”

Hands shaking, he unbuttoned his pants and swept them off, along with his socks and shoes. When he was done, he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes half-hooded. “Now what?”

She stood and pointed to the chair she'd vacated. “Now you sit here. Put your hands behind your back.”

“Melina—”

“Do it.”

He sighed and sat down. Immediately, she straddled him, rubbing her sweet flesh against his dick, making him wet with her juices even as she raised up on her tiptoes, shoved her chest under his chin, and leaned forward to bind his wrists together. He bent his head to nuzzle her and breathe in her scent when it dawned on him that she wasn't using scarves but handcuffs. “What—”

He rattled the handcuffs, but she shook her head. She tauntingly held a key out to him. “Uh-uh. No tricks tonight, Rhys. It's just you and me. Remember how you said I tortured you? Well, I'm finding that one taste isn't enough for me. I want to torture you some more.”

He'd never been so pissed off and so turned on at the same time. Clenching his teeth, he reminded her, “You're due for some torturing yourself. More and more with each second that passes. Now, get these off me.”

“What's wrong? The magician can't get them off himself? Looks like you'll just have to take what I dish out.”

She sank to her knees in front of him, pushing apart his thighs, and positioned herself between them.

He tightened them around her warningly, not enough to hurt her but enough to let her know he wasn't playing. “Release me. Now, Melina. I'm not kidding.”

She moved her hands to the curve of his ass and dared to dip her finger into the crevice. Then she leaned down, looking up at him the whole time, and took him in her mouth. She ate him like she was starved for it. She licked him like he was an ice cream cone and she was burning up. She cupped his balls and raked her fingertips up the length of him even as she worked the tip of him with her tongue, alternately flicking him and then sucking him. She gave him head like she'd been doing it for years, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, practicing it time and again in preparation for this very moment so she could drive him utterly insane.

When his shouts of pleasure faded, she wiped her mouth, caught a drop of cum that had managed to elude her, then licked it off. He groaned, barely able to move, and not just because of the cuffs. “Kiss me,” he whispered, needing to be close to her. Needing something that he couldn't even name.

To his astonishment, she shook her head. Smoothing out her corset, she sauntered in her four-inch fuck-me heels to the bathroom. When she returned, she was carrying a crop. His eyes widened in disbelief.

“I picked up a few other things while I was out.” She brought the crop down on her ass and pouted. “Maybe if you're a good boy, you can spank me later.”

It was all too much for him. The makeup. Her cool taunting. The way she refused to kiss him or give him an ounce of her softness. With a powerful surge, he stood. As he did, his bound hands slipped over the chair back and, in a move that left Melina gaping at him, he slipped his bound hands in front of him.

She blinked her eyes several times, as if she wasn't quite sure what had happened. “How'd you—”